


to find purpose

by PilotStudios



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Ghosts, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilotStudios/pseuds/PilotStudios
Summary: “Oh.” He looks down at his hands. They seem alive. “I don’t remember dying.”“People rarely do,” she says and her hand ghosts over his, not touching but comforting all the same.





	to find purpose

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a year ago ([here's the first version](http://grogthebarbarian.tumblr.com/post/150707507387/heres-something-i-wrote-a-while-ago-i-never)) and i finally got around to finishing it so *jazz hands* tada  
> also im sorry but the pronouns get a little confusing at times since i (deliberately) don't name anyone but hopefully it's still understandable

He is in a forest. It seems familiar somehow but he can’t remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything. 

“Hello.” 

There is a small woman, a gnome, who gleams in the dark forest air, hair white and dazzling. She smiles at him, and that is dazzling too. It almost hurts to look at her but he does anyway.

“What’s happening?” he asks her.

“You’re dead,” she says.

“Oh.” He looks down at his hands. They seem alive. “I don’t remember dying.”

“People rarely do,” she says and her hand ghosts over his, not touching but comforting all the same.

“Are you dead too?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “Not quite.”

“Are you an angel?”

She laughs. It sounds sad somehow. “No.”

“Oh.” He’s not quite sure what to make of her. He’s not quite sure what to make of any of this. “What do I do now?”

She smiles and it feels bittersweet. “You find your way.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You will.” Her form flickers, like sunlight passing through moving trees. “I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he says, even though he doesn’t want to be alone. “I’ll manage.”

She smiles, reaches out and vanishes.

He turns and leaves. He isn’t sure where he is going or what he is looking for but he has a feeling that if he looks, he might find it.

~

He wanders. 

Day comes, then night, then day again. Time no longer holds any meaning to him so he stops keeping track.

He passes by people and they, in turn, pass through him. It’s an odd sensation and it makes his head hurt so he avoids it. 

Everywhere he goes, there’s an itch, right at the base of his skull. A vague feeling of discomfort, of things not feeling right. It drives him forward. He feels…something in his veins. A pull, perhaps. A yearning. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what much of anything means.

So, he wanders.

~  
He finds himself in a field of flowers. They are bright, vibrant and varied, more flowers than he can even name, more than he even knew existed. He sees her in the center of them, just as bright and vibrant, and he watches as she whispers and a seed sprouts, a sapling grows and a tree towers over them, tall and strong.

She looks up and sees him. “The tree will help,” she says, gesturing to the flowers around them. “They talk to each other. It will help them grow.”

He nods. He does not know the ways of plants but he trusts her word. “Are you like me?” he asks.

“I guess,” she says. She places her hand on the ground and a white daffodil springs up beneath her fingers.

He sits down next to her. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Neither do I.”

“Oh,” he says. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“It’s not that easy,” she says and another flower pops up. He doesn’t recognize it but it looks frail and delicate, with its thin petals and dark purple color. “You have to find your own way.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have to find your purpose. Find out why you’re still here and not…You know.” She looks away. “Somewhere else.”

“Do you not like being…like this?”

She shrugs. “It’s just…not what I was expecting.”

He nods. He can understand that, at least. “Have you found it? Your purpose?”

She smiles but it is a hopeless, sad smile. “No. I’ve been looking for so long, I don’t know if I ever will. It’s like I don’t really…matter.”

She looks so sad and withdrawn that something in him aches. “I think you will, eventually.”

“How do you know?”

He thinks. “I don’t know. It just…feels like you will. You finding your purpose just feels right.” She looks confused and maybe a little skeptical. He shrugs. “Besides, you helped these flowers. You helped me. We would be less helped without you, so that means you matter. Right?”

She looks at him and then smiles. It’s a genuine smile instead of a sad mock-up and it lights up her whole face. He decides that he likes it. “I guess it does. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The itch starts up again. “Um. Sorry. I have to go find my way n’ shit.”

She nods. “Good luck.” 

She hands him a flower. Flowers aren’t his thing, but this one is funny looking and it makes him chuckle, just a little, so he tucks it away and says, “Thanks. You too.”

He looks back after he exits the field. She’s just a speck but he can see her fire red hair clear against the light blue sky. She waves. He waves back and walks away.

~

He travels.

He travels across plains, and forests, and cities, and mountains, and yet the feeling of wrongness persists, a heavy weight across his shoulders. 

It’s a crushing feeling, having nowhere to belong. 

~

He hears him before he sees him. There’s a jaunty tune, merry and light, and it makes him laugh so he seeks it out. 

It comes from a gnome. He’s bright against drab streets, purple clothes and shiny flute, and his voice is brighter, loud and clear and jolly. He steps forward. The gnome spots him and smiles and it draws him closer.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” The bard says once he’s close enough. “You haven’t found your way yet.”

“No.”

The bard grins and taps his nose. “Don’t worry, you will. They always do.” 

The bard is bright, almost shining against the gray cobblestone, glowing, gleaming. It leeches into him and buoys him and he can’t help but ask. “You’ve found your way, haven’t you?”

The bard beams again, teeth shining. “Yep.” He strums a little tune and then gestures across the street, to the eaves of a bustling inn. There’s a crowd of people milling around, but through them he spots a pair of musicians, a large towering half-orc with a violin and a small gnome with a flute, playing the same jaunty tune that first drew him in, and he knows that it is her that the bard is here for.

The bard’s smile is soft and fond as he watches her play. “She’s doing well,” he tells him.

For a moment, he wants to ask what the bard’s purpose is, to put to words the way the bard looks at the other, but it feels wrong and invasive so he doesn’t, and instead sits and listens to the music filling the street.

Eventually, the music dies down, and the pair across the way put down their instruments, joking together as they count up their earnings.

“How did you do it?” He asks the bard, breaking the brief silence. “How did you find your purpose?”

“The music.” The bard says. “It tells me where to go. I just had to figure out how to hear it.” At his confused look, the bard laughs. “I don’t think I can help you. It’s a bit different for everyone.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.”

The bard grins, bright and comforting. “You’ll find your way eventually. I’m sure of it.”

He grins back, and leaves to a rousing tune. 

~

He tries to listen to the pull, the tugging on his soul, to see where it leads him but it’s hard and complicated and too weak for him to grasp, and it doesn’t feel like he’s going anywhere. All it does is drives him forward, urging him to keep moving.

It worries him if he thinks about it, so he doesn’t. He just keeps going.

He’ll find an answer eventually.

~

He happens into a forest. It’s quiet and empty, and he likes it enough, but forests are unfamiliar to him, and he soon loses his way. He’s not too concerned, for time doesn’t mean much to a dead soul, but there’s no pull, no hint as to where to go. He thinks that it should concern him, for the pull to the missing, but it feels so distance that he can’t bring himself to care so he merely wanders.

He’ll make it out eventually.

“Are you lost, stranger?”

He starts, and turns to see a woman in hunting gear, a bow at one side and a towering bear at the other. He hadn’t heard her approach and he knows that she is like him.

“A bit,” he says. “But it doesn’t really matter.”

She gives him a reserved smile. “Regardless, it is my duty to help you.” She tilts her head and looks at him, as if she is seeing his very soul, and then she smirks. “Besides, I think you might need it more than you know.”

“Is that your purpose?”

“It is part of it. I’m still finding the rest.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that one could have more than one purpose, and he’s curious, but he doesn’t press. “I suppose you could help me, then.”

She smiles more broadly and turns, bear at her heels. He follows, sticking close so that he doesn’t lose them to the shadows. She walks confidently, steps sure, going along some path he cannot see. The forest is her home, her place, and he hopes that someday he will find a place that he can walk in as assuredly as she does. 

After a ways, there is a rustle amongst the leaves, and he stops, alert, with a rush of adrenaline (protectdefendsave) that he hadn’t felt since the day he died. 

The hunter raises a hand, calm and elegant. “Do not worry. It is only my brother.”

She smiles into the darkness, and he can see something shifting, a flash of metal, and he hears the sound of wings folding together. Yet, somehow, despite the hidden presence, the shadows seem less threatening than before.

“Come,” The hunter says. “We still have a ways to go.”

They walk in silence, the brother following like a shadow, until, like dawn, the trees break before them, revealing a sprawling snow covered plain. The hunter and her shadows stop at the edge of the tree line.

“This is as far as I can take you.”

“S’alright. I can find my way from here. I think.”

She looks at him, and gives him a wink, matched with a confident smirk. “I believe that you will. Just follow your heart, and you’ll do fine.” 

From the shadows, the brother makes a clicking sound, and she laughs. 

“What?”

“He said good luck, you’re going to need it.”

“Well, fuck you too, mate.”

Their laughter follows him as he takes his leave.

~

The pull returns, stronger than ever, singing through his veins and his bones in a bright chorus. It urges him forward, no longer pulling but guiding, his path ahead as clear to him as the tattoos decorating his skin.

It will lead him to where he needs to go, he knows, so he follows. 

~

There is a woman, a half-orc. She has already felled two of her opponents and he admires her skill. However, three more still face her and she is on her last legs. He has seen many fights like this before.

But something is different. 

There is movement behind her. He steps through the fighting and sees a human child, curled up on the ground. Blood spills out around her. She is injured. 

The woman is protecting her.

Something inside of him clicks and settles. He has found his way. This is his purpose. 

The women, behind him now, shudders and lifts her axe as her opponents move in. She will not survive another hit. He turns to her and places his hands on her shoulders and says, “Be strong, brave one. She still needs you.” He gives her his strength. 

He feels her soul ignite.

She lets loose a cry, lunges and her opponents fall at her feet. 

He turns away as she goes to the child. He has done his part. He has found his purpose. It sings in his veins, bright and dazzling. It tells him where he must go next, urging him forward. There are others that he needs help.

(As he goes, he sees a simmer out of the corner of his eye, bright and familiar, as the woman mutters a healing word to the child, but when he turns, it is gone.)

~

The man is young, barely even a man, and new. Newer than him. He’s sitting in the street, ink black smoke billowing out of him, through his eyes, his mouth, his hands, through the seams on his being. The crowd cuts a neat circle around, subconsciously driven off by the chill in the air.

The boy looks up as he approaches and asks, in a raw, wispy voice. “What’s happening?”

“You’re dead.”

“Oh.” The boy looks at his hands. The smoke makes a sound like a fire being doused and vanishes, and he is viciously glad. He’s never much-liked demons. The boy blinks as if waking up from a dream and looks up at him with bright blue eyes. He looks sunken and small, and his hair is a dazzling white, and he’s struck by how young he looks. “I-I don’t remember dying.”

“People rarely do,” he says. He crouches down beside the boy.

“Are you dead too?” the boy asks.

He laughs, “Not quite. I was like you, once, and now I’m not.”

“Oh.” The boy frowns, looks around. He seems to take being dead pretty well. “What do I do now?”

“Now? You find your way.”

“How do I do that?”

“You find what feels right.” He shrugs. “There’s not much else to it.”

“Hm.” The boy smiles, tentatively. “I think I can manage that.”

He smiles back. “Good.”

The boy stands. He seems to shine in the rising sun, white hair glimmering. He looks at him, nods, and walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so needlessly abstract and symbolic and i don't know if i should feel proud or embarrassed but at least i had fun writing it


End file.
